To those without sacrifice we say, "Remember."
To the families of the fallen we say, "Thank you."
To our fallen we say, "We miss you."
Monday, May 25, 2009
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Leave, Part 3: The Heat Is On
Almost immediately upon getting on the plane returning from Leave I was homesick. I missed my family, my dog, my home and fell into a mild funk. Getting back through Atlanta to Kuwait to BIAP to Kalsu was not going to be a treat.
The weather had changed here while I was home. It was now easily over 100° in the dust bowl of Kuwait. Bad weather set in wreaking havoc on all out going flights to Iraq. Bad weather in the Middle East means either dust or sand storms. I experienced both within twenty-four hours. While I am familiar with the “red air” syndrome of a dust storm, I had never sat through a sand storm before. The sand moves at the speed of the wind, which in this case, seemed to be fifteen to twenty miles per hour. If you’ve ever seen blowing snow, a sand storm has the same visual effect as it passes over pavement. The sound however, reminds you of a driving, pelting rain against a pane of glass. It can be intimidating.
Fortunately I was in the safety of a bus and did not have to go out in the storm. Within thirty hours of landing in Kuwait I was on another C-130 en route to BIAP. Trying to get a ride – anywhere – at 0330 in the morning out of Baghdad is impossible. I had been up for almost a day and was seven hours ahead of my body clock. When you are that tired you don’t care about where you are or who sees you. I sat in a chair, made myself as comfortable as possible and nodded off for three hours of broken sleep. My mood deepened.
I discovered that a convoy was heading to my base at 1130 so I spent most of the morning sitting in the shade reading. At about 1015 the sun was high enough in the sky to eliminate my shade altogether and the heat really beat down. In Baghdad there was no dust to block the sun and the temperature was around 105°. When it gets that hot your clothes absorb the heat radiates inward and your body feels like it is wrapped in a giant hot blanket. When it gets to 120° and higher it’s suffocating.
The ride back to Kalsu was uneventful. I looked out the window at the landscape going by. The heat had already drained all of the color out of the ground. I have never seen a place look so inhospitable.
And then it hit me. All of the travel, the homesickness, the heat, the jetlag, the Army – all of it all at once; I hate this fucking place.
When I got back to my room and back I reset my countdown clock that Lisa gave me. I entered the date that we’re supposed to leave Iraq. It read, 99 days. And suddenly the gloom began to lift. A new urgency crept into my brain – it’s time to prepare to go home! Upon entering my office and opening my email there were urgent requests to start the redeployment process.
And now the heat is on to start the checklists to go home. There are awards and evaluations that need to be written. There are movement plans to write. Packing needs to be done. There is coordination with the home unit. There is enough to keep me busy for the next three months. Three months seems like a long time when you arrive but it goes by very fast at the end.
Right now, Iraq isn't so bad. It's hot only from my air conditioned room to my air conditioned office, or the air conditioned gym or chow hall. The end is in sight for my team as we get out the countdown calendars and mark them off.
The weather had changed here while I was home. It was now easily over 100° in the dust bowl of Kuwait. Bad weather set in wreaking havoc on all out going flights to Iraq. Bad weather in the Middle East means either dust or sand storms. I experienced both within twenty-four hours. While I am familiar with the “red air” syndrome of a dust storm, I had never sat through a sand storm before. The sand moves at the speed of the wind, which in this case, seemed to be fifteen to twenty miles per hour. If you’ve ever seen blowing snow, a sand storm has the same visual effect as it passes over pavement. The sound however, reminds you of a driving, pelting rain against a pane of glass. It can be intimidating.
Fortunately I was in the safety of a bus and did not have to go out in the storm. Within thirty hours of landing in Kuwait I was on another C-130 en route to BIAP. Trying to get a ride – anywhere – at 0330 in the morning out of Baghdad is impossible. I had been up for almost a day and was seven hours ahead of my body clock. When you are that tired you don’t care about where you are or who sees you. I sat in a chair, made myself as comfortable as possible and nodded off for three hours of broken sleep. My mood deepened.
I discovered that a convoy was heading to my base at 1130 so I spent most of the morning sitting in the shade reading. At about 1015 the sun was high enough in the sky to eliminate my shade altogether and the heat really beat down. In Baghdad there was no dust to block the sun and the temperature was around 105°. When it gets that hot your clothes absorb the heat radiates inward and your body feels like it is wrapped in a giant hot blanket. When it gets to 120° and higher it’s suffocating.
The ride back to Kalsu was uneventful. I looked out the window at the landscape going by. The heat had already drained all of the color out of the ground. I have never seen a place look so inhospitable.
And then it hit me. All of the travel, the homesickness, the heat, the jetlag, the Army – all of it all at once; I hate this fucking place.
When I got back to my room and back I reset my countdown clock that Lisa gave me. I entered the date that we’re supposed to leave Iraq. It read, 99 days. And suddenly the gloom began to lift. A new urgency crept into my brain – it’s time to prepare to go home! Upon entering my office and opening my email there were urgent requests to start the redeployment process.
And now the heat is on to start the checklists to go home. There are awards and evaluations that need to be written. There are movement plans to write. Packing needs to be done. There is coordination with the home unit. There is enough to keep me busy for the next three months. Three months seems like a long time when you arrive but it goes by very fast at the end.
Right now, Iraq isn't so bad. It's hot only from my air conditioned room to my air conditioned office, or the air conditioned gym or chow hall. The end is in sight for my team as we get out the countdown calendars and mark them off.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Leave, Part 2; Twenty-one Days
Don’t let the title fool you. I was only home for 15 ½ days. However, I did enough in that time to fill up three weeks of great memories with my family. Think about that; most of us spend our time with our family and friends and lose the truly memorable moments of life among the daily tedium of work, chores, and routine. My Leave was full of those memorable moments.
Seeing TJ for the first time since February, I picked him up from day care. He was outside running around, saw me, stopped dead in his tracks, yelled, “Dadda”, and started to jump around in excitement. The joy in his face was priceless.
I saw Samantha at her school where I had been invited to speak (in uniform) to her sixth grade class. She paraded me around as if I was royalty – which is exactly how I felt. And then I returned the favor by getting her classmates to applaud her for being a wonderful daughter.
I arrived home just in time for spring. Everything was turning green and was beginning to bloom. I enjoyed the first mowing of the lawn for the season. I say enjoyed, because it is my favorite chore of my household duties. For some reason, the smell of gasoline and cut grass reminds me of my father.
By Saturday, my family was all packed and on a plane to Florida for our cruise. I sat next to TJ and read books and played with toys as learned how to work the window shade; up, down, up, down, up. That night I went to dinner alone with Samantha who caught me up on her friends, school, and the drama-drama-drama that is her pre-teen life.
On Sunday we were on the Disney Wonder for four days and nights of perfect fun. I could gush, but it’s sufficed to say that the cruise was truly in the Disney fashion, everything was top notch. The kids were great, the shows spectacular, the snorkeling awesome, and boat was beautiful.
Seeing TJ for the first time since February, I picked him up from day care. He was outside running around, saw me, stopped dead in his tracks, yelled, “Dadda”, and started to jump around in excitement. The joy in his face was priceless.
I saw Samantha at her school where I had been invited to speak (in uniform) to her sixth grade class. She paraded me around as if I was royalty – which is exactly how I felt. And then I returned the favor by getting her classmates to applaud her for being a wonderful daughter.
I arrived home just in time for spring. Everything was turning green and was beginning to bloom. I enjoyed the first mowing of the lawn for the season. I say enjoyed, because it is my favorite chore of my household duties. For some reason, the smell of gasoline and cut grass reminds me of my father.
By Saturday, my family was all packed and on a plane to Florida for our cruise. I sat next to TJ and read books and played with toys as learned how to work the window shade; up, down, up, down, up. That night I went to dinner alone with Samantha who caught me up on her friends, school, and the drama-drama-drama that is her pre-teen life.
On Sunday we were on the Disney Wonder for four days and nights of perfect fun. I could gush, but it’s sufficed to say that the cruise was truly in the Disney fashion, everything was top notch. The kids were great, the shows spectacular, the snorkeling awesome, and boat was beautiful.
We returned home in time for me to take Sam to her concert where she played clarinet for the 7th and 8th grade band. Although her head and her heart were still on the cruise, she played great and I got to attend at least one of her concert this school year as I was totally blown away by the band’s performance.
Lisa and I planted a rose bush in honor of our daughter, Rebecca, who was supposed to have been delivered to term during these two weeks and ran in the Mother’s Day 5k race. Rebecca, and all that could have and should have been, was never far from our minds.
Lisa and I planted a rose bush in honor of our daughter, Rebecca, who was supposed to have been delivered to term during these two weeks and ran in the Mother’s Day 5k race. Rebecca, and all that could have and should have been, was never far from our minds.
For bonus points, I finished Lisa’s Honey-do list she had waiting for me.
I even spent half a day with the company commander of the unit that is going to replace us in August. Making that contact, in person, was oh so instrumental to getting me to think about the end of this tour!
I boarded a plane for Atlanta on a Wednesday morning. On the ride to the airport, Lisa and remarked all of the things we did and how blessed we are to be able to do them. Lisa and TJ walked me to the gate and in a hurried state, said our good-byes.
I believe life is made of little moments. For example, I don’t remember all of Samantha’s birth, but I recall the moment when she first gripped my pinky with her tiny little hand as clearly as if it were yesterday. I don’t remember all of the details of my first date with Lisa, but I recall the story of her father and the deer outside of her window. I don’t remember all of the day my mother died, but I remember what I whispered in her ear just before she left us. Metaphorically speaking, all of these moments make a sort of patchwork quilt, as it were, where lots of different pieces of fabric make a whole new thing.
I even spent half a day with the company commander of the unit that is going to replace us in August. Making that contact, in person, was oh so instrumental to getting me to think about the end of this tour!
I boarded a plane for Atlanta on a Wednesday morning. On the ride to the airport, Lisa and remarked all of the things we did and how blessed we are to be able to do them. Lisa and TJ walked me to the gate and in a hurried state, said our good-byes.
I believe life is made of little moments. For example, I don’t remember all of Samantha’s birth, but I recall the moment when she first gripped my pinky with her tiny little hand as clearly as if it were yesterday. I don’t remember all of the details of my first date with Lisa, but I recall the story of her father and the deer outside of her window. I don’t remember all of the day my mother died, but I remember what I whispered in her ear just before she left us. Metaphorically speaking, all of these moments make a sort of patchwork quilt, as it were, where lots of different pieces of fabric make a whole new thing.
My Leave was full of these moments with my family. They can't always be captured on video or digital camera. Not even writing about them here can articulate all of the details and feelings associated with them.
I suppose that when you are so far away from the people whom you love for so long it makes you appreciate them even more. I treasured every second I was home.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Leave, Part 1: Two Homecomings
I am back from Leave and catching up on events from the last three weeks.
On April 25th I began the trip home for my scheduled Leave (read vacation) from Iraq. The day began with an hour plus long convoy from my base to Baghdad International Airport, or BIAP. BIAP sits in the heart of Victory Base, a sprawling complex that’s larger than a small city. I was manifested on a flight that would be leaving 15 hours after my arrival. To pass the time I read all of A Thousand Splendid Suns from cover to cover and thinking about reuniting with Lisa, Sam and TJ.
Meanwhile, sometime during the same day, to the north of Baghdad, a young sergeant was shot by a sniper near the city of Kirkuk. And while the medics and doctors tried to save him, he died here in Iraq. His body was prepared to go home to his family.
Somewhere during the day I sent Lisa emails updating her of my progress, or lack thereof, and expressed my excitement to be coming home. There was a lot to look forward to.
Somewhere in Texas, the young sergeant’s family received two men in uniform at the door. Their message was that he too was coming home. There was no excitement and nothing to look foward to.
The military can make anything last interminably longer than it should and in the early, early hours of Sunday, I (and about sixty others) began the process of boarding the C-130 that would bring us to Kuwait to go home. We boarded the plane and were told that our mission was being diverted to Kirkuk.
At 0330 in the morning, the young sergeant’s flagged draped coffin met us at the Kirkuk airfield. Our plane shut down, and we exited the aircraft to join a full color guard, twenty-one gun salute, several hundred fellow Soldiers to pay respects as the coffin was loaded. Standing there in the dark and quiet I found myself selfishly thinking of my reunion with my family, and less of the dead Soldiers reunion with his. And while I appreciate ceremony, this one felt a little surreal as sixty of us all had plans to be enjoying ourselves within the next 48 hours and yet we were flying with a very real and tangible reminder of the war for part of the way.
We flew to Kuwait City International Airport where another ceremony was held. This time the sergeant’s body was taken off of the C-130 for transport to another plane that would take it to Dover, Delaware. We all re-boarded our plane for the Kuwait airbase that processes people to go on Leave. Later on Sunday night our flight flew from Kuwait to Germany and then on to Atlanta where we all split up to our homes east of the Mississippi.
Somewhere on Monday, the Soldier’s family met a color guard at an airport near where he’d be buried with full honors. Their long grieving processes had only begun.
On Monday, I stepped off my plane in Syracuse to the arms of my wife. We wrapped up in each other and embraced. It felt so good to be home.
On April 25th I began the trip home for my scheduled Leave (read vacation) from Iraq. The day began with an hour plus long convoy from my base to Baghdad International Airport, or BIAP. BIAP sits in the heart of Victory Base, a sprawling complex that’s larger than a small city. I was manifested on a flight that would be leaving 15 hours after my arrival. To pass the time I read all of A Thousand Splendid Suns from cover to cover and thinking about reuniting with Lisa, Sam and TJ.
Meanwhile, sometime during the same day, to the north of Baghdad, a young sergeant was shot by a sniper near the city of Kirkuk. And while the medics and doctors tried to save him, he died here in Iraq. His body was prepared to go home to his family.
Somewhere during the day I sent Lisa emails updating her of my progress, or lack thereof, and expressed my excitement to be coming home. There was a lot to look forward to.
Somewhere in Texas, the young sergeant’s family received two men in uniform at the door. Their message was that he too was coming home. There was no excitement and nothing to look foward to.
The military can make anything last interminably longer than it should and in the early, early hours of Sunday, I (and about sixty others) began the process of boarding the C-130 that would bring us to Kuwait to go home. We boarded the plane and were told that our mission was being diverted to Kirkuk.
At 0330 in the morning, the young sergeant’s flagged draped coffin met us at the Kirkuk airfield. Our plane shut down, and we exited the aircraft to join a full color guard, twenty-one gun salute, several hundred fellow Soldiers to pay respects as the coffin was loaded. Standing there in the dark and quiet I found myself selfishly thinking of my reunion with my family, and less of the dead Soldiers reunion with his. And while I appreciate ceremony, this one felt a little surreal as sixty of us all had plans to be enjoying ourselves within the next 48 hours and yet we were flying with a very real and tangible reminder of the war for part of the way.
We flew to Kuwait City International Airport where another ceremony was held. This time the sergeant’s body was taken off of the C-130 for transport to another plane that would take it to Dover, Delaware. We all re-boarded our plane for the Kuwait airbase that processes people to go on Leave. Later on Sunday night our flight flew from Kuwait to Germany and then on to Atlanta where we all split up to our homes east of the Mississippi.
Somewhere on Monday, the Soldier’s family met a color guard at an airport near where he’d be buried with full honors. Their long grieving processes had only begun.
On Monday, I stepped off my plane in Syracuse to the arms of my wife. We wrapped up in each other and embraced. It felt so good to be home.
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